


Died for Dethklok

by HeavensCrack



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Abigail is a goddamn queen, Angst, Guilt, Nathan feels like shit, Not as much of a mess as the band, Skwisgaar/Toki friendship, Strong Language Warning, Toki is kind of a mess, post-doomstar, talk of trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-08-14 13:23:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16493387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeavensCrack/pseuds/HeavensCrack
Summary: Post-Doomstar, the band contemplates their life with Toki back.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically just a rambling of my post-Doomstar thoughts, put in a fic, mostly set in Nathan’s point of view. Enjoy

Toki hadn’t said a word since he got home and was released from the medical area. Completely silent, so unlike how he was before. They knew he still hurt, that he was reliving it every fucking day, but they didn’t ever bring it up. Not because of that stupid “no giving a shit” rule they had come up with when they first started- not that Toki was there to agree to it, he always tried to care- but because saying it out loud confirmed that it was their faults. It was their fault that he was taken in the first place- it was no secret Nathan blamed himself from not getting Toki away from Magnus, hell, they all blamed themselves for that, they knew what he was like. They just never thought he’d hurt anyone as kind and innocent as Toki. They had always assumed that he’d use Toki to get close to the rest of the band, hurt them directly, but what Magnus had actually done didn’t actually cross their minds as a possibility. It was their fault that he was hurt as badly, over that amount of time- they had ignored the problem for _months_ until it started biting them in the ass, and they couldn’t drink it away anymore. They could’ve, they _should’ve_ gone after him right after Magnus took him. But they didn’t. They went back to Mordhaus and drank away the sound of Toki’s scream, the look in his eyes as he realized the one he thought was his friend both metaphorically and literally stabbed him in the back. But Magnus wasn’t the one who betrayed him, no, really, it was the ones who allowed him to be tortured for months while they just partied. This wasn’t brutal. It was fucking sickening. 

Charles, the one they looked to the most, was gone. He came back to visit Toki in the hospital, and he explained how he wasn’t going to live with them anymore… the band had threatened Charles before when drunk, but completely sober, Nathan had actually threatened to break every bone in his body if Charles didn’t tell Toki himself. Nathan couldn’t do it, nobody could. Because telling the little guy that Ofdensen wasn’t coming back… because if Toki found out that even _he_ abandoned him… Jesus, that would break him even more, if he already wasn’t damaged beyond repair beforehand. Charles not being there was hard for everyone, but fuck, they couldn’t complain, especially not after what just happened. Their problems were minuscule in comparison. 

Abigail was now manager, in Charles’ absence. Nathan had tried talking to her… but she had refused to talk about anything but business. They could all see when she looked at them: she would never forgive them for what happened. Not what happened to her, but for what they had let happen to Toki. She had been his lifeline in those months, and god, they were thankful. If it was him by himself, they honestly didn’t think he would have survived. But he did, thanks to her, and every time Nathan met her eyes, they just screamed _you did this._

She hardly even let them near him- Toki only seemed to want to be around her. When he came out of his room, he’d lie on the couch and lay his head on her lap, if she came out of her office. Of course, she always did when a Klokateer alerted her he had left the room. She wouldn’t let him be alone with the band, it was like she didn’t trust them around him. And could they blame her? 

They all felt the loss of the hollow man- that’s what he was now, they couldn’t call him a boy- amongst them. Skwisgaar felt the loss the most, Toki had always been closest to him. When Toki had first joined, he wasn’t the greatest at speaking English, and often reverted to speaking his native Norwegian. They had all figured that Swedish was close enough to Norwegian, and since they both played guitar, Nathan, Pickles, and Murderface had just kind of shoved Skwisgaar towards the kid. Not surprisingly, the two Scandinavians became almost inseparable. Skwisgaar sometimes acted annoyed, but he was very obviously (to those who knew him) very happy around the kid. It wasn’t just the musical aspect- Toki made Skwisgaar better in more than just guitar playing. He was more relaxed around the other, and vice-versa. They balanced each other out, everyone could see it. And with that whole… well, Skwisgaar was the one who kept his shit together in that awful bar while they all broke down, and was the one who half-carried Toki out of there. They played together in the reunion concert, spent a lot of time together practicing. But afterwards… Skwisgaar was shut out. They all were. 

It wasn’t even Toki shutting down, not like the bicentennial quarter incident that cost them their Disney trip, or when Toki’s parents visited… no, he didn’t need to be hooked up on all those drugs, or sit there completely immobile for days on end. This was completely different. He was completely functional, yeah, but he wasn’t _normal._ For one, he was silent. He didn’t say a word to them outside of performances. He didn’t do anything he used to enjoy, he wouldn’t play any of the arcade games, Nathan had even seen one of his half-finished models and his colouring books in a trash can, and though he’d never admit it, he felt a lump in his throat when he saw it. He fished it out of the trash, and it was now in a drawer in his bedroom. Deddy bear was stashed away somewhere nobody knew- they’d all looked for it, one day when he had gone somewhere, and they couldn’t find it anywhere, not in his room, not in the kitchen, or anywhere he frequented. Toki wasn’t the only one who was different though. Skwisgaar, who had always hated silence, which was why he was either always talking to someone or playing his guitar, was almost just as silent as Toki. The band was seriously concerned, fuck, it was unnerving how much Toki had changed. It unsettled them, shook them deep to their cores. They’d been through some pretty fucked up shit before, but this was what had finally broke the camel’s back, or whatever the fuck the saying was. Regardless, something was broken with them, and they weren’t sure if they could get it back. 

The Jomfru brothers once had a website called “Die for Dethklok”, and so it seemed, the Toki Wartooth they loved was the final causality on that long list. Magnus may have wielded the knife, but it was Dethklok who had delivered the killing blow. And Nathan wasn’t sure if he could ever forgive himself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skwisgaar finds Toki.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise, there's another chapter. Honestly, I don't think this will ever evolve into a long, full-length fic, but I'm just going to add it it as I write. I realized I did want to continue with this idea, so here you all go. Enjoy!

Skwisgaar had been pacing the halls restlessly. He was going crazy, or just about to. It had been weeks since he had spoken to Toki. He didn’t care how gay it was, he missed his best friend, and needed to know if he was doing okay. The rest of the band felt that giving him space was the best method, at least that’s what they said. The truth was that they didn’t want to take responsibility for what had happened, and Toki avoiding them made it easy to trick themselves into thinking that was for the best. That was bullshit, and they all knew it. 

So, he just paced the halls, keeping himself active and moving just so he didn’t scream. And then, he saw him. A single figure, hurrying down the hall. His pale eyes were lifeless and didn’t seem to notice Skwisgaar as he approached him. 

“Toki, stop,” Skwisgaar pleaded, grabbing the other man’s arm as he passed, stopping him. He quickly dropped it, feeling how tense Toki got at the touch. His voice softened. “Toki, please. Why won’ts you talks to me?” 

Toki stood in the corridor for a few minutes, unresponsive. Skwisgaar feared he was going to just walk away, or freeze up completely like he used to when something he didn’t want to think about came up. But Toki turned to face Skwisgaar, much to his relief. He let out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding.

“The first days I met you was the happiest day of my life,” Toki said slowly. “When I left that building, and you tolds me that I made you plays the best, and you wanted me in the band, you literally saves my life. I probably would have killeds myself if I failed that auditions, if I had to spend another nights on the streets. It was the lowest point I remembers, and you saves me from that. You saves me. But you didn’ts save me from Magnus. You completelys forgets about me.” 

“Toki, I-”

“Murderface, I expecteds it from. He ams a self-centred piece of shit who ams only cares about himself. Pickle ams really goods at drinking away his problems. But you, and Nathans- I thought yous would comes for me. I thought you cares about me. But neither of you came. You lefts me to rot, Skwisgaar. I told you more than anyones else, I told you about my dads, how I donts like… and you lefts me there, knowingsk everythings. I loved you, Skwisgaar. You ams my best pal, but you amsn’t now, not after this. There are only two things I’ve ever wanted. To plays guitar, and a families. I thought I had that here, but you all lets me down, just likes my families. You sees me only as rhythm-guitarist, not anyones special. And that’s who I ams now. Rhythm guitarist. Nothings else. Comes to me when you have a guitar piece you wants me to record. But you’d probably ignores that too, pretends it’s not there, and redo it, wouldn’ts you?” he turned back and quickly continued down the hall. 

Skwisgaar stood in the hall, completely speechless. There was so much he wanted to say, but he couldn’t. How did he go so wrong? He thought that he tried, throughout everything that happened. _He_ was the one who didn’t lose his shit in the shithole known as the Depths of Humanity, _he_ was the one who found and figured out where Toki was being held, and _he_ was the one who carried him out, who stayed with him the first few weeks in the hospital when nobody else could bear to face him. Everything he tried to do to make it right again… it didn’t stop him from drinking or whoring at all hours just to stop seeing the look on Toki’s face at the funeral every time he closed his damn eyes. 

Skwisgaar was destroyed. 

After what seemed like an eternity, he turned around down the dark hall and trudged back to his bedroom. 

White, it was. Bare and white, just how Skwisgaar liked it. He loved the colour white, always had. It reminded him of Sweden, that day he had ran away from home, and in the snowy fields, discovered his first true love- the guitar. It was also his good luck charm: he had worn white the day he had met Nathan and Magnus, and on the day that his whole life changed.

White was a purifying colour. Not that Skwisgaar was pure in any sense of the word, but it had a very calming effect. The empty whiteness gave him a blank canvas, a blissful void where he could concentrate and paint the world anew with his inspirations. White was the colour of his creativity, and if he was honest, it looked damn good on him. Unfortunately, it was not “brutal” enough for the band, so he stuck with darker shades in public. But in the security of his private chambers… there was only one option. 

Skwisgaar walked to his closet. It was crammed with bins and hangers, containing what little material items he ever wanted to keep. He was never one for sentiment, he took after his mother in that way, if thankfully not in many others. His room was meant to be an empty space, with the exception of the essentials: his bed and his guitars. He pushed aside a rack of clothing to get to the back wall, where one thing he could never let go was placed. 

It was an old Gibson, battered and forced together by careful layers of duct tape. This guitar (which probably came out of a donation shop, but was tossed in the trash for how terrible it was) was clearly well-loved, fished out of a dumpster or not. It was nearly unplayable, its time on the streets did it no favours, and the action was warped irreparably from years of neglect. 

The first Christmas that Toki was in the band, he had all bought the band extravagant presents with the newfound money they made, all except Skwisgaar. He had presented Skwisgaar with a battered guitar case. It was his own guitar, the one that he had played in his audition. He had long since gotten a newer, more effective one, but for some reason, clung onto the old one. Skwisgaar didn’t laugh when he received it, he had seen the shining stars in the boy’s eyes and nodded at him. While Skwisgaar was never good with sentiment, he understood the weight and meaning of the gift he had been given. He had been given many guitars, but this one meant something. It was a thank you, a beacon of hope where there wasn’t one. And it was Toki giving Skwisgaar the thing that brought the happiest moment in his life. That was years ago, and he had it still. He knew he would never throw it away. Every once in a while, he would struggle to tune it and play a few chords, which made him wonder how Toki had ever been able to play it so well. It just proved the raw talent he had, if he could make that great a sound on this piece of shit. 

Skwisgaar placed the guitar on the bed beside him and putting his head in his hands, he began to cry.


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Toki’s point of view.

Toki was drowning. He was no longer in panic mode, pounding the ice of his own weaknesses, trying to do whatever he could to escape his fears and demons, anything at all as long as he held his breath, just to stay alive for one more moment- no, he had been in that panic mode his entire life. 

He was past that. He had gone through the blinding agony of holding his breath, of causing more pain just to hang on for a little while longer. The stage he was in was ready to let go and let the dark waters take him, fill his void with a void of their own. Go into the Water, one of their songs was called, and Toki was ready. He would become one with the sea that had beaten him against the rocks and dragged him under too many times. Toki just didn’t give a fuck anymore. He had already been through the worst. What else could life take from him? 

He didn’t care anymore. He was just going to go with the tide of the ocean, wherever it decided to take him. He was still going to stay in Dethklok, because playing guitar was what he wanted to do, his reason for existing. It was his pride, and how he managed to cope all these years. A few assholes weren’t going to take that away from him. But if they expected things to go back to how it was before… that was never going to happen. Toki didn’t want to go back, anyways. He used to be so naive, thinking everything was okay because they were his friends and they loved him, but did they? He had put up with years of being overshadowed by everyone, being completely ignored, not included in many of their “band bonding” moments, like Kitty Whisker Monday, the whole “Dethklok PR” thing… he had been shit on basically from the moment the band made it big, as if Toki wasn’t the reason why they got big in the first place. He was the one who pushed them ahead, by giving Skwisgaar a challenge, and in turn, he thought he got a family… but what he got was a group of alcoholic douchebags who cared for nothing but money and themselves.

The only true family he had now was Abigail. His Abigail, who had kept him floating for so long down there. It was his turn to make sure she was okay, now. She still kept careful tabs on him, he knew, just as he watched for her. Whenever he would go out, she was sure to be there… the confrontation with Skwisgaar was on his way back from lying down with her.

They often stayed close together- Abigail sitting down, Toki’s head on her lap. Physical contact was a comfort for both of them, a reminder that they weren’t alone. It was an important reminder when they were imprisoned, when Toki wasn’t always coherent enough to know he wasn’t back in his punishment hole, when she was scared. Touch meant that they were alive, and no matter what horrors were around them, they were together. She liked to play with his hair, take small strands and tightly braid them together, then unbraid. Over, and over. It soothed her, having something to do with her hands, and the hands running through his hair felt nice. They would never show how much they were struggling in front of the band- not that Toki did beforehand, unless a lot of vodka was involved, but Toki knew Abigail well enough to know when she needed a distraction. They understood each other, in ways that the others couldn’t imagine.

Toki sat up, reaching for his guitar. His lips twisted into the faintest smile, before, this was unheard of. He never used to practice, just relied on his natural talent. Now, just being able to do one thing without feeling like he was being swept under was a relief. He was going to be better, play better, work harder, so that he could continue to have the life he wanted, without any reason for it to be snatched away. Another bonus: the better he was, the less time he’d have to spend with those dildos. 

His fingers moved down the frets, the other hand plucking at the strings. He had thought out different tunes, half-assed and improvised chords and bars that had just come to him while he played. The music guided him, warping itself into something hard and beautiful. 

He let the music fill the empty room- one he had cleared out almost as soon as he returned home. The colouring books, the models, everything that once brought him joy were just… meaningless. The photos he had, especially the one of his parents that loomed over his bed, thrown in the trash. They couldn’t do anything to him now. Aslaug was dead, and Anja dead to him. As much as those ghosts of his past lingered, permanent as the scars on his back, they had much quieted after the terror of those months. 

Happiness wasn’t his goal anymore. He once believed that Dethklok was his dream come true, one that would solve all his problems. He was wrong. The place he would retreat to, his happy place, was literally turned into his worst nightmare. The concept of happiness was pretty much murdered after being chained up and tortured in the literal building that embodied all his hope. So yeah, “happy” didn’t exist. 

Toki wasn’t sure he even had a goal anymore. He needed to be there for Abigail, be there to keep bringing in money for Dethklok, keep something alive that was much bigger than himself, bigger than all of them- Dethklok was bigger than anyone, and meant too much to the world to let it die. Dethklok couldn’t continue without him, and for the sake of the fans, he would stay. Not that the fans ever cared about him before he disappeared- he was only on the Dethklok minute twice before then- Toki didn’t necessarily care about them. He cared about what the band represented to them, what it used to represent to him: hope. The fans needed it, it was inspiration, it brought them out of dark moments, being a fan meant so much more than just liking something. 

So, he would carry on for that. For the fans, for Abigail, for the pricks who deserved nothing. Wherever the tides took him, he would go.


	4. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to another Nathan chapter… there will be more of a plot and dialogue soon, but here’s a bit of a winding ramble about feelings… gross. Who needs feelings, amirite? Anyways, enjoy!

Nobody had gone to Magnus Hammersmith’s funeral. The band hadn’t heard of it happening, in fact, the Klokateers had reported that his body hadn’t been found. Nathan didn’t give a shit. They wouldn’t have gone to it anyways, and if he was ever found alive: Nathan would kill that bastard himself. Magnus was never getting near Toki again. At the rate it was going, the band wasn’t either, except for shows and practices. 

Nathan didn’t know what to do. The band that he had built from nothing all those years ago was falling back to the nothingness from whence it came. 

Toki… Nathan didn’t know what the fuck to do about him. He was there for practices, and he was better than he had ever been. _Damn,_ he was incredible. Nathan had never heard that kind of sound from him before, it was brutal and heavy and just… wow. 

Pickles was, well, Pickles. Nothing could get to him. He was picking up on the warning signs as well, but he was dealing with it as he dealt with everything else: drinking it away. 

Murderface still was going on about Planet Piss, or whatever the fuck he did. He kept his distance from Toki, instead of talking to him about how he had lots of problems because he was fat, or trying to rope him into schemes… probably because Nathan threatened to bludgeon off his dick with that mace Murderface kept by his bed. Murderface had a good heart, and he genuinely tried to make things better and safer for everyone, but that didn’t stop him from being an insensitive piece of shit most of the time. The band was too unstable right now to have Murderface say something shitty and blow everything up. 

Skwisgaar though… that’s who Nathan was most concerned about. It was no secret he wasn’t handling this situation well. His hands were too still, too silent. Pickles said something the other day about strings and Skwisgaar exploded and punched him in the face. He was acting weird before, but something had to have happened more recently… he was losing it. It was rare that Skwisgaar actually shut down, yes, he acted emotionally at some points, but he never actually well, lost his shit to this extent before. He was falling apart at the seams. 

_Worrying is gross and fucking gay. We don’t give a shit about our personal lives._ Nathan had been the one who had always toed the line of giving a shit, and he gave a shit now. The band was fucked. The press didn’t know that, the fans didn’t know that, but he knew they were utterly, royally fucked. 

The two guitarists both now didn’t speak to anyone. The drummer had taken his alcoholism to new levels. The bassist was surprisingly the only person who seemed okay, because Nathan knew he certainly wasn’t fucking okay. He needed someone to give a shit, and he needed his family back in order. God, they were broken. But were they irreparable? 

Dethklok was Nathan’s only future. He wasn’t lying when he said he’d probably kill himself if the band broke up. The others would move on, sure. Pickles had done fairly well with real estate, Murderface had Planet Piss, Skwisgaar could do whatever the fuck he wanted, with those looks and the title of fastest guitarist in the world. But Nathan didn’t have anywhere else to turn, he couldn’t imagine himself anywhere else. Hell, he hadn’t even graduated high school. 

More importantly than his career were his brothers. That’s who they were, they were more than a band. They had lived together for years, the original four living in that shitty house all the way back when they had nothing. They were nothing together, and they built everything they had, together. They had wild times together, but they also had their quiet times, enjoying a game of Scrabble, playing golf, just doing their own things, not every moment was packed with adventure or excitement. They just were. Nathan loved those fucking assholes. He loved them. And now all that was disintegrating before his very eyes. 

He needed to do something… usually he fixed his problems with money, or got Charles to do it. But there was no Charles this time, and money was like slapping a bandaid on a fucking hatchet wound- it would do fuck-all. Money couldn’t fix their own bonds, built by years of pretending to not give a fuck and build a musical empire together. Their palace of Dethklok was still standing, but the foundations were crumbling. If the band couldn’t get their shit together… were they even a band? 

The former worst moment in Nathan’s life was when Pickles had quit. Pickles, Nathan’s best friend, the one who saw the dark-haired screamer and thought, _I want to start a band with him._ When the whole thing with Abigail went down, Nathan had been genuinely scared for possibly the first time in his life. He couldn’t live without that bastard, and he wasn’t going to, even if the apology almost killed him. Sure, a simple haha, sorry, wasn’t a problem, but a genuine, “I’m admitting my wrongdoings” apology- Nathan wasn’t physically capable of doing that. But he did, because Pickles needed that, and he needed Pickles. 

Sorry wouldn’t cut it for here… saying sorry to Skwisgaar wouldn’t make the man speak again, or come out of his room. Saying sorry to Pickles again wouldn’t make him put down the seventh straight bottle of vodka. Saying sorry to Toki wouldn’t give him back the months he was ignored by the band and tortured… sorry just wouldn’t fucking cut it. And Nathan still didn’t have a clue. 

Banana stickers and Twinkletits wouldn’t help, because this ran deeper than needing simple psychological validation. This was a massive scar, being edged open wider and splitting down further by an unyielding blade. Before long, it would create a crack, one that could shatter the family they had built. 

When the fuck had they let it get to this point?

All roads led back to Magnus. All of them, with the exception of Toki, had known exactly what he was like. If they had just read that damn pamphlet for that Rockarooni camp and convinced Toki not to go… this would have never happened. Magnus wouldn’t have met Toki, wouldn't have saved his life, and never would’ve befriended him. Toki had terrible choice in friends. Rockzo, Magnus… he knew how to collect the shitty ones, alright. It was weird how Nathan almost wished for that neon asshole back. 

This wasn’t doable. They were all fracturing, splitting into tiny splinters, ones that stabbed Nathan over, and over, and over again. Little wounds that would gash his skin again and again until he bled out. He hated seeing his family like this, he hated _being_ like this. 

Nathan could only think of one thing to do. He had to talk to Abigail.


End file.
